


His Favorite Toy

by LadyGrey



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bromance, Brotp, No Porn, Other, Well not really, i had to write something for penis friday you see, i left it open for porn though, i'm actually sorry about that, no really this isn't porn, or they were going to kick me out of the fandom, really this is about penis friday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 10:54:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGrey/pseuds/LadyGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for tumblr, <a href="http://sherlockh0rnyholmes.tumblr.com/post/22953697687/i-couldnt-help-myself-again-what-would-be">this prompt</a>.  would we call this a prompt?  In any case, it was penis friday and I didn't feel like drawing and it was just too hysterical not to jump on.  I hope you like it, sherlockh0rnyholmes :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Favorite Toy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sherlockh0rnyholmes](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sherlockh0rnyholmes).



“Look John, I've got a dildo!” 

John quite carefully did not react or look at his flatmate. He was comfortable in his chair. Sherlock had been bored for three days. Yesterday he'd alternated between moping loudly on the couch and smashing things in the kitchen. So no. John needed a break and he was going to drink his tea and read the paper and ignore Sherlock's attempts to get a rise out of John for one more day. “Very good, Sherlock, well done. I've got one too, several, in fact. Welcome to the club, mate.”

“But John,” Sherlock insisted, padding closer, “this _is_ yours. Your favorite, if I've deduced correctly.”

John looked. Damn his easily manipulated self. And yes, it was indeed his favorite pink dildo, the one with the vibrator in the base and a slight curve that hit his. . .no, no, John Watson was not going to think about this. He was going to drink his tea and read his paper. One of the royal corgis had fallen ill; it was very sad. “Yes, you have. Now please put it back.”

But Sherlock, dressed only in his pajama bottoms and that ridiculous blue dressing gown, sashayed, yes, _sashayed_ over to John and waggled the thing in his face. “But John, I'm BORED. Show me something new!”

“If only I had a kink for moody twats who don't respect my privacy,” John replied, batting it out of his face.

Sherlock bonked John on the head with the dildo. John finally dropped his paper and glared. He would not sit in his own living room and get smacked around by his own dildo. “Give me that,” he snapped, making a swipe for it. But Sherlock was faster, and smacked John on the face with it before skittering across to the couch, giggling like a schoolgirl. A schoolgirl. Really. How was it possible for the most brilliant man in London to also have the most juvenile sense of humor known to man? John harrumphed.

Sherlock threw himself on the couch and started swinging the dildo over his face like a pendulum, looking for all the world like a child with a new toy trying to figure out what games to play with it. Well. He could just. Figure it out. John didn't care. He took a sip of tea and returned to his papers. Oh, the corgi's prognosis was good, said the royal veterinarian, what excellent news. Oh, some bloody Tory had said some new fool thing about homosexuals again and if that wasn't just. . . _what_ was that sound? 

Knowing that he shouldn't, John Watson turned his head to the couch, where he saw Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, deep-throating the pink dildo with loud slurping gulps as he moaned like a porn star. 

John Watson knew he had lost the moment his eyes crinkled. He knew he had lost when his diaphragm betrayed him and shoved all the air out of his lungs in one go. He forgot his paper. He forgot his tea. John doubled over, holding himself, laughing so hard he could not get words out. “Sher. . .” he tried, but dissolved into another fit of helpless, almost painful giggles, “Sherlock,” he managed on the next go, but no further. Tears ran down John's face now, and Sherlock still had not ceased pistoning the thing in and out of his face. He had closed his eyes and was now snaking one hand into the waistband of his pajama bottoms. 

John Watson also was not a stupid man. He did not have the foggiest what his insane flatmate was on about, but he knew an opportunity when he saw one. Carefully, quietly, still laughing just as loudly, John pointed his phone at the fiasco on the couch and pressed record before sitting it on the bookshelf. 

John didn't need to fake his continued laughter, but he did finally manage to choke out, “Sherlock,” he wiped tears out of his eyes, “Sherlock, _what_ are you doing? What. The. Actual. Fuck. Are. You. Doing?” John managed to get it all out in between breathy but quiet chuckles.

Sherlock looked at him and his thumb went to the base of the dildo and it started buzzing. Sherlock resumed the motion in and out of his mouth and said “um wuffim my eef!” around the girth of the thing.

“What?” This was priceless. This was too good. John didn't even care any more that Sherlock was doing it to get a rise out of him. He had never laughed this hard in his life, not even the time Sherlock neglected to wear pants to the palace.

Sherlock pulled the dildo out of his mouth with an obscene popping sound and speared John with his you-are-an-idiot stare. “Clearly,” he said in the same infuriatingly condescending tone as always, “I am brushing my teeth. One really cannot overstate the importance of good oral hygiene.”

John was done. Just done. He couldn't even sit in the chair anymore, just lowered himself to the ground, shaking, laughing, crying. Oh god, it hurt, now. Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers was literally rolling on the floor laughing his arse off, and he did not care. At least, he did not begin to care until it actually began to hurt in earnest, at which point he flattened himself on the ground and started taking deep, gasping breaths, trying to calm himself down. 

When he was finally laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, pointedly not looking in the direction of the couch, breathing heavily, Sherlock got up and sat beside him, long legs thrown out to his left, right hand supporting him on the rug, that bloody thing still in his left hand.

“So,” Sherlock said with a twinkle in his eyes and a smile that looked entirely too chuffed, “This is your favorite toy?”

“Oh god,” John wheezed, “Well, it _was_ , but now. . .” John surrendered to another round of wheezing giggles, “Oh god, just keep it. Keep it.” John would never be able to look at it again without completely losing his shit.

“What on earth would I do with such a thing?” Sherlock held it up and cocked an eyebrow.

The trap closed and John groaned. He glared at Sherlock, well aware that his glare was softened by the endorphins flooding his system. Pain and laughter and sex, and Sherlock had chosen the right one, had deduced, brilliantly, exactly which course would make John Watson the most pliable.

“Sherlock, for the last time, I am not gay.”

“No?” said Sherlock. “Pity. I suppose I'll just have to suck on this all night long. . .” he began to raise the dildo back to his lips.

“God, please, don't. I can't take it,” John begged, honestly, aware just a second too late of the porny irony of the words falling out of his mouth.

“We appear to be at an impasse, John. I require experimental data. You need to breathe. Surely we can work something out like civilized men.”

“I am not your bloody experiment, “John huffed.

“Oh, but you could be,” Sherlock purred in that silky baritone of his, the one he knew would get him anything he wanted from anyone, anyone except John.

John put a hand on his forehead and took a deep breath. “Not gay. Not gay. Not gay.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“Very sure,” John replied, patiently.

“But you like this?” Sherlock held up the dildo again.

“Well, yes, Sherlock, but I don't think I need to explain male anatomy to you.”

“No, of course not,” Sherlock rolled his eyes, “but what is the difference between this” he wiggled the dildo, “and, as they say, the 'real deal?'”

“'The real deal' is attached to a man, and I am not attracted to men. That is just a toy, a tool, if you prefer to call it that.”

“John, do you find me attractive?” John turned to look at his friend. He didn't seem to be making fun, or asking leading questions, he just seemed to be asking, waiting for an honest answer.

“Sherlock,” John said slowly, not wanting to hurt any feelings, “what conversation are we having right now?”

Sherlock shrugged, breaking eye contact momentarily. “I'm not really sure. Nobody has been willing to have any kind of conversation like this with me before.” 

“Perhaps if you'd made it clear that you were interested in this sort of conversation rather than telling people that it's _not your area_. . .” John pointed out, trying to be gentle.

“But it's not. It is clearly not my area. I've read all about it of course, probably know more than most people, and there's the internet, and I'm not entirely incompetent at taking care of my own needs, it's just that I had never met anyone before I could stand to be in the company of long enough for a cup of tea, much less long enough to try. . .well, to make it my area. I just assumed it wasn't, and wouldn't be. You, on the other hand, good lord, John, no offense, but you do get around!”

John chuckled. “Did I just get called a slut by the great Sherlock Holmes?”

“There's nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Do I look ashamed?” John asked, sitting up and leaning back against the seat of his chair “No, look, I'm just not really sure what you want to talk about here. I'm up for it. Up for anything. Let's talk.”

“In that case,” Sherlock said, “I want to talk about _everything_.”

And so, two friends stayed up late into the night talking about sex, love, relationships, and everything in between, and by the time the sun rose both wondered if they had somewhat redefined their area somewhat. But that's another story, for another day.


End file.
